Meat-Eating Orchids: A Side to Heart-Shaped Box
by Guardian of the Nakano
Summary: -Hashirama loved those disgustingly ugly orchids of his-A side to Heart-Shaped Box, Madara-centric. Rated for Language. Reivew and Enjoy


-Meat-Eating Orchids-

A side to Heart-Shaped Box

-Hashirama loved those disgustingly ugly orchids of his-

-o-

He remembers that night more than any other. More than his wedding night. More than his honeymoon. More than his granddaughter's wedding, or the death of his siblings, or when his grandnephews were born.

He also remembers being happy at one point. But how long ago was that?

Yes, he was happy at one point. Once upon a time he was happy. He was in love.

-o-

He still felt those silky brunette tresses slide between his long, pale fingers, twisting like benign, charmed little snakes into a pretty braid that fell down the male's back. Madara envied that beautiful, silky hair so much, his own raven locks (if they could be called such) falling in erratic waves and spikes; deadly. Anyways, he remembered that gorgeous hair and the flavor of his golden skin, every inch another flutter in his once-young heartbeat. The echo of his fingertips still resided on Madara's skin, still bold in their old age. They didn't bring pleasure anymore.

Only pain, only pain. It was a mantra. Only pain.

-o-

"Maddy, love, you're as pretty as an orchid," he would coo to the messy-haired male, usually as they lay idly entwined in the late of the evening, after Madara returned from work at the hospital and Hashirama had finished dinner. Madara would only roll his eyes and prop his head up on his hand.

"You know I hate your ugly orchids, Hashirama-kun," he would chide in his evanescent accent, his quirked way of speaking. "I love you though."

Sometimes Madara recalls the absence of response and thinks that Hashirama loved the orchids more than him.

-o-

He began to feel the distance between them after Hashirama got a job in the botanical research facility he had been eyeing since adolescence. Their celebration of this began to fade into absent intimacy, names going unwhispered, moans going unheard. Madara barely did more than murmur softly, and in turn Hashirama turned over and went to sleep early. He was ashamed of the way he clung to Hashirama as the doubt kept him awake at night.

Only pain, he remembered fervently. Only pain.

-o-

"Who the fuck is she?!" Madara screamed, the vase shattering beside Hashirama's head, who did little more than flinch.

"She not anybody, Maddy-kun! I work with her," that accent. That fucking charming accent!

"Work what?! Your dick? Fuck you! Are you really cheating on me with that ugly ginger?!"

"She isn't ugly," Hashirama growled.

"See?!" Another vase flew by Hashirama's ear, smashing on the wall behind him as the delicate orchid fell limply to the ground.

Hashirama's heart paused as he saw a glint of red flash in Madara's dark irises.

-o-

"We need to talk," Hashirama murmured softly, sitting on the bed near Madara, who had his face buried into his pillow, hair like a river of obsidian down his back.

"Fuck you," Madara cursed weakly into the pillow. Hashirama winced when he met Madara's eyes, but continued:

"I'm sorry that you think I'm cheating on you. I'm not. I swear. You have no need to be defensive. I love you, Madara. You know this. You know me."

Madara sat up and stared at the floor as Hashirama began to make an attempt at braiding his bangs, the only even part of his hair. Madara slowly lowered his head to lay in Hashirama's lap (So vulnerable. Why does he...?), curling up hesitantly. Hashirama gave him a smile so gentle, Madara verbally berated himself for thinking that his Hashirama-kun (His Hashirama-kun) would leave him for some red-headed bitch and apologized.

Only pain, only-scratch that. Humiliation and pain. Humiliation and fear and painpainpain.

-o-

Sometimes he thought that Hashirama loved those disgustingly ugly orchids of his more than he loved Madara.

-o-

"Ne, Hashirama-kun..." Madara said quietly, nudging his husband as he slept, "Will you go to the funeral with me?"

-o-

"I know you want children, Hashirama-kun," Madara confessed one night while he made tea. "I pray every night for a solution to this."

Hashirama glanced at Madara for a brief second, avoiding his eyes as his stomach went sick with fear and anxiety, expression unreadable as the raven handed him his tea.

-o-

Madara sat beside his husband at the funeral, eyeing his niece who sat in the front row of the church. He whispered, "I'll be right back," and went over to see she wasn't even crying, an absent expression on her pale face.

He gained custody of her the next day.

-o-

"Mikoto is the answer to our prayers, Hashirama-kun," Madara chirped, "A child of our own!"

Hashirama looked absent as he lay in bed.

-o-

"Hashirama-kun, look. There are a million-and-one ways to have a kid these days. A surrogate, adoption..."

Hashirama stared at the pamphlets absently and went outside to smoke, a strange habit he took up after that night, the whir of ceramic flying past his ear still there, still there.

Anger and rage and pain and hatehatehate.

-o-

"GO AHEAD!" Madara screamed. "Leave! Nobody fucking needs you! Go have a fucking soccer team with that bitch, you dumb-fuck! It's not like we were MARRIED or anything!"

Madara slammed the door shut and smashed his fist against it in anger, choking back burning tears as blood dripped down his knuckles.

He jumped when he heard a soft voice behind himself. "Uncle Madara?"

Madara composed himself quickly just as he did when he faced a patient's family and turned to her. Although, he thought ironically, it felt like he was sick enough that somebody else should explain the diagnosis; he was too busy being incapacitated with grief, dying of a divorce-aggravated broken heart.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he tried in a solemn voice.

Mikoto stood in her track shorts and over-sized hoodie that he recognized belonged to her boyfriend, her soft black-blue hair messy and haloed around her delicate, pale face, eyeliner smudged beneath her dark eyes. "I heard yelling and woke up."

"I'm sorry," Madara wrapped a protective arm around her small shoulders, leading her to the kitchen. He put the kettle on and pulled out two cups, a bag of tea for him and a packet of hot chocolate mix for her.

"He's gone...isn't he? Uncle Hashirama, I mean..." Mikoto murmured as Madara handed her her mug, two large marshmallows floating and stained by the molten chocolate drink. Madara sat down with her at the island and toyed with a strand of her soft, pretty hair that glowed blue in the light.

"Yes."

"He's not coming back." It wasn't a question.

"Nope. Just us, girlie."

Mikoto glanced at an orchid sitting on the windowsill. "I hate those stupid orchids."

-o-

Madara dug through the shoebox in his closet, remembering the letters they wrote to each other before they got married, promising to open them on their twentieth anniversary. The day of what should have been dawned and Madara pulled out the lightly yellowed envelope, Hashirama's neat script easily discernable on the front. He slowly opened the delicate envelope and pulled out the letter.

"Dearest Maddy,

There was always a reason

I loved my orchids so much.

Do you remember

When I first met you?

After Izuna died, you became a recluse,

Could only stand sunlight for so long,

And wasn't even incensed enough to eat or drink anything?

You were so gaunt, so thin,

Yet so pretty.

I wanted to take care

Of you.

And I did. That's why

You're reading

This.

Orchids remind

Me so much of you,

I keep them as a reminder.

Yours forever,

Hashirama-kun."

Something in Madara snapped. He drove his pale fist into the wall, enraged, screaming every obscenity he could think of. He grabbed every damned orchid in the house, wilted with neglect, and dragged them all into the yard along with the letter, throwing them into a pile and igniting them with a match. He watched them burn and vowed ominously. "No, Hashirama-kun. I'm not one of your damned orchids. I'm stronger than that now. I don't need your care. I refuse to wilt."

He clenched his fists as he swore aloud, "I will stand the test of time..."

-o-

Meat-eating orchids forgive no-one just yet

Cut myself on angel's hair and baby's breath

Broken hymen of your Highness, I'm left black

Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back

-o-

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the little side~ If you want more just give me the name of whoever you want a side of in a comment and I'll see what I can do! All the love~

~The shimmering Nakano


End file.
